Hetalia Drabbles
by Shadows in the Light of Day
Summary: Anything Hetalia that doesn't hit 1000 words. 1: A captured England thinks back on the events that put him in prison. 2: Italy was not the one who was supposed to die, and all he wants is to reassure the person who let this happen. 3: Lithuania's secret dreams. 4: Injured and alone, Romano wonders if anyone will save him...and decides that no one cares enough to help him.
1. 1-Lock

There is barely any light…only enough for him to distinguish the lock on the door of his prison cell.

He knows he can't get out…but he wants to. He wants to see the sun again. He wants to see his friends smile again, and he wants to know they are safe. He wants to see Alfred…he misses him, although he would never, ever tell the idiot that. Why can't he get out? Why does it have to be so bloody dark and cold? And yet…not dark enough. If he couldn't see anything, then the lock on that door might not torment him so.

Ever since he was a child, he has hated being locked in. He had been locked in closets before, and it had terrified him. Alone, in the dark. But it had been better, then, because he couldn't see the thing that was keeping him captive. He wanted to get out…had to get out… He hadn't turned back time to get locked in again. He had to get out, before Alfred came to save him like last time. Because, even though Alfred had to know that it would only end the same way-with both of their deaths-he would come. Even though he had said not to…even though he had begged him not to come, if the same thing happened. If he was captured, then he couldn't possibly let Alfred try to save him. It would end in disaster, just as it had the last time...and he didn't think the spell would work twice. He had no way of knowing that it wouldn't...but it was doubtful.

And he wonders…why? Why did Francis make the same mistake twice? He was so careful…and still, Francis knocked his mask off. Perhaps…no. Francis is not a traitor. He wouldn't…couldn't…betray them. Could he? He had to know his actions would result in the death of his friend. Francis did know they were friends, didn't he?

_"Should have been kinder to him…and to Alfred… Oh, god…if I ever get out of here…"_

But he wasn't sure he would. Would he ever be able to escape this prison? He had to move quickly, before Alfred came. He had turned back time to save his brother, and he couldn't possibly let the boy die now. And Alfred knew-he knew they would die. He knew exactly what would happen if they failed to save each other… And still, that idiot would take the same course of action, to try and save someone who had told him he did not want to be saved. Because he was the hero…even though he wasn't, really. Or…was he? Was Alfred a hero, after all? Wasn't this what heroes did, rushing blindly in to save people who they couldn't save? Or was that just idiocy. He wasn't sure. He only knew that he wanted Alfred to survive. That was the only reason he had turned back time-to save Alfred and anyone else who might die.

And then, he was staring at that blasted lock, and the door opened. He knows what is coming, even before he sees that it is the guards, instead of Raivis or Eduard. And he fights, because he is trying everything he can to disrupt the flow of what happened before. Maybe even a pointless struggle can stop this nightmare from unfolding before his eyes…again.

But he knows, later, when they lead him to the 'interrogation room'…he knows what he will find there. He prays he is wrong, but when the door opens, he sees Alfred, who is trying so very hard not to look at him, just as he did before.

And he knows that there is no escape. They are both locked in now, until the day they die.


	2. 2-Execution

_"If the world is vile, and you make it your foe, there is just one thing that I want you to know. I'll protect you and I will do as you please, so you'll smile, feel happy, and be at peace."_

_-Len Kagamine, Servant of Evil_

He looks so brave, standing there, that you almost forget who he is. You forget that he is a useless, cowardly, almost innocent child. And, because that is the one thing you do not want to remember, you forget it even quicker. Because, even though he is the enemy, you pity him. You pity this boy…even though you know it is his own fault that he chose to follow his friend into this. And you pity him, because he should not be the one standing there.

No, Feliciano Vargas should not be the one about to die. It should be the other one. His best friend…Ludwig Beilschmidt, who is probably standing somewhere in the crowd, watching, unable to do anything that might save Feliciano.

And, although they all feel guilty about what they are about to do, they know that Feliciano brought it upon himself. And Feliciano knows it too, for there is no reproach in his eyes…only a sadness that breaks your heart.

And those brown eyes scan the crowd, until they light upon the person he is looking for. Tall, with piercing blue eyes. And even in disguise, Feliciano can tell exactly who it is. And he smiles, because perhaps he can reassure his friend. After all, that was all he ever wanted to do. All he ever wanted…was to be there for Ludwig.

"Feliciano Vargas," says the executioner, "You have been convicted of treason. Do you deny the charges?"

Feliciano shook his head.

"Do you have any final words?"

"I…yes," Feliciano says, his voice coming out as little more than a frightened whisper.

Then, he straightens, and looks out into the crowd, straight into those blue eyes.

"Ludwig," he says, and his voice becomes stronger, until his enemies are questioning whether or not he is actually Feliciano Vargas, and not an imposter. "If you are listening…I have something I need to say."

He stops for a moment, glancing around nervously.

"All that I ever wanted…was to see you happy. You see, when I came with you, it wasn't necessarily because I agreed with you. It's just that…that I care about you… And I want to see you be happy. I want to see you smile...and feel happy. And…I had hoped to one day see you at peace. But…I don't think you will be. Because you will think that it is your fault…what is going to happen to me. And it's not. I made my choice, now please make yours. Please, Ludwig… It's not your fault if I die. I chose to take the risks I did… I just want you to be happy. I always tried to do what you told me, even though I wasn't very good at it. I…I even tried to protect you…so please…don't let this…don't let it destroy you."

He pauses, and glances around again, trying to find another face. He can't quite find the location of Kiku Honda, but if Ludwig is there, then so is Kiku.

"Kiku…you listen too, okay? Same things I told Ludwig… You guys are my friends… Please… Don't blame yourselves…"

"Time's up, Vargas!" someone yelled.

"Okay," Feliciano whispers. And then, he stares out into the crowd, into Ludwig's eyes, until the end.

And, because he is gone, he does not see the tears that fall from Ludwig's eyes.

"I will try… And if someday…somehow…we might meet again… I pray I can tell you I did my best."

_"When the bells are ringing, the queen stands to weep… She is wishing that just sometime…again they will meet."_

_-Servant of Evil_


	3. 3-Defiant

I hate the way he acts toward me. The way he feels he is somehow superior, as if I am nothing more than dirt to him.

If I speak with even a slight edge in my voice, because he is chastising Eduard or Raivis for no reason, then he becomes angry. He hates that I speak with even that minute hint of defiance. Because, to him, it means he is not in control of me. And control is what he wants. He never had control as a child, so now he wants to control us. And it isn't fair. It's not fair to me, or to my brothers, that we have to be put through this because of his insecurity.

I wish I could say that to him. But I can't. He terrifies me…and he always will. But I hate that. It appalls me that I am so afraid of him. I shouldn't be. I have the right to be who I am. I should be a proud nation, instead of a cowering, stammering _servant_.

I hate the way he touches me when he lectures. It is always then. I don't like the way he touches me then, because it seems so affectionate. As if he truly cares for me. And I can't return that, even if it is real affection. I stiffen when he touches me. I can't understand why he hasn't punished me, because my body tenses every time he touches me. Even when I touch him without him making me, it happens. I hate him. I hate the way he touches me and smiles, that strange little smile that almost seems like love. But I look into his eyes, and they are empty. They are not the eyes of someone who cares for me. They are the eyes of a man who could not care less.

Or so I thought. Then I heard it…late one night. He was crying. We had tried to leave again, and we nearly got away before he found us. And he cried.

"You almost took them away! They're the only people I care for! Why did you almost take them? Don't you know that hurt me?"

And that was one of the times when I almost pitied him. But I didn't. I haven't pitied him for so many months now. I sat there, next to Eduard, listening to him cry, and I felt no pity. And when I told Eduard that, he told me that it was all right.

Then I said I wanted to end my life. Not…not exactly, out loud. But I drew my finger across my throat, and pointed at my chest, and I almost hoped that Eduard would understand, and tell me it was okay. But he shook his head. He shook his head, and I knew he was right. I think he's forgotten. But Feliks hasn't. I told him one day, and he was so shocked…he made me promise never to try again. But…but I can't cope with it. I can't get away from Ivan any other way.

I just want to die…or be free. And I will never be free. Already, I see it. When I go to the others' homes, I always ask them if their family or friends will mind what we are doing. Because I know Ivan would. He would shout at us…or at least at me.

But at least it is usually my fault. And I can step up and try to take the burden from them, even though I can barely bear my own. I can try. Even though I'm weak and scared.

He can't rule me forever. I won't let him…I hope. And I hope that, one day, the next time he tells me to remember who I am-that I am just a servant…that I will be able to say to him, standing tall and proud…

"No, Ivan. _You _remember who _I _am. Say my name, Ivan Braginsky. Say it. Toris Laurinaitis."

_"Lithuania."_


	4. 4-Loved

He was alone. So very alone, and no one would save him. Or, at least, he did not expect them to. He stumbled through the dark, deserted alleyway, until he tripped and fell to the ground, whimpering.

"Spain, you bastard…save me… Damn bastard…where are you?"

* * *

><p>Hurt, afraid, and alone. If Italy Romano had been asked to provide three words to describe his life at present, those would have been it.<p>

He didn't know how it had happened. They had all been together, safe, at the conference, just a short while ago. Now he was frightened and alone, and he didn't know what was happening.

Maybe the world was ending. That might make sense. Romano was fairly sure they had been attacked, but he couldn't quite remember. It was getting hard to stay awake. Maybe it was just the darkness, or maybe he just wanted to get away from the terrible headache he had. Also, his side hurt. Badly.

Romano moaned quietly as he leaned back against the wall of the alley. At least as long as the darkness persisted, whatever had been chasing him wouldn't be able to find him. At least, he hoped that would be the case.

"Damn…why does my side hurt so much…?" the Italian muttered, "Where is everyone?"

Then, he remembered. They didn't care. Of course not. If anyone else was missing, they would look for them first. Maybe, after everyone else was safe, someone would remember he was missing. But he didn't think so. After all, he was barely even acknowledged by most of them. They never called him Italy. It was always Veneziano who got that title…so, of course, he must not even seem like a real country to them.

Romano closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. It had begun to rain, and the nation shivered as it began to soak through his clothes. For some strange reason, sitting down had done nothing to relieve the pain in his side. If anything, it had intensified.

After a while, Romano was starting to get cold. The rain wouldn't stop. It just came down harder, soaking the shivering Italian.

Then, there were footsteps. Quiet at first, then louder. Romano cowered back into the shadows, hoping they would hide him from the newcomer.

"Romano?" an accented voice whispered, "Romano, are you there?"

"S-Spain…?" Romano whimpered, "You…you came…looking for me?"

* * *

><p>Spain turned toward the sound of the voice, and managed to distinguish the small nation from the walls around him.<p>

"Romano! I finally found you!" Spain said, crouching in front of the Italian. "Can you stand? We need to get back…"

"Spain…you jerk…listen to me…" Romano gasped, "Why…why did you…?"

"You're my friend. I couldn't just leave you," Spain said, "Would you have left me."

"No…" Romano whispered, "I didn't think you cared."

"I always cared," Spain said, "Didn't you know that? I always cared about you, Romano."

There was no reply from the younger nation, so Spain kept talking.

"Now, come along. We've got to get back to the others… Hey, Romano? Are you okay? Romano? Romano!"

But Romano did not reply. After all, he wasn't there anymore. All that was left was a body, leaning against the wall, and smiling. Because, in his final moments, at least he had had the comfort of knowing that someone cared. After years of thinking he was hated by all who knew him, Italy Romano was finally at peace.


End file.
